"Upon
the mountain Jesus sat; the hillside by the beach
Grass-carpeted cathedral where He could speak, and teac
Those flaming, burning words of truth that priest and demagogue
Would never tolerate at all in church or synagogue.

His
own cathedral He had built; had built it by His word,
And ‘neath its vaulted panoply the glory of the Lord
Would pale the light of noonday sun; for what He said that day
Would blaze and shine eternally, when worlds had burned away.

Back
to their tasks the crowd had gone, and He was left alone
Save for a little company that He could call His own.
What use was there for restless crowds — the worldly, giddy throng
Might listen to the music, but never hear the song.

Blessed
are ye, the tones rang out,
repeated o’er and
o’er!
Galilee pressed with watery hands the keyboard of the shore;
And from her heaving bosom rose the music of her waves,
For heaven was calling earth to tell that only Jesus saves.

For
can the sermon on the mount be lived by human life?
Can sinful man ascend so high above his sin and strife?
Is there the possibility that he can strive and strain
Through a thousand consecrations that life to attain?

Forgive
us, Lord, if such we think, for this is not the way.
Oh, give us ears to really hear what Thou didst say that day!
We want life. Oh, vision blessed, from us, Lord, never part,
For we can only live it when Thou livest in our heart."